


Sharing Smoke

by CrownedAnxietyAttack



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Smoking, Smut, one-sided
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownedAnxietyAttack/pseuds/CrownedAnxietyAttack
Summary: “You smoke?” Stanley asked with a raised brow.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had anything from this universe, but yeah,” Ford replied as he pulled his legs under his body and leaned heavily against his brother. Stanley blushed at the feeling of his brother’s naked torso pressing against his bare shoulder. He honestly shouldn’t be blushing considering that he was looking at his own brother, but damnit he can’t help that his brother is fucking cute and hot as hell. Literally. Those blankets made his body feel unusually warm since the boat tended to be rather cold. Of course that didn’t stop Ford from stripping down to only his tight ass black boxer briefs that clung to all the right places and gave Stan a heart attack. Of course Ford didn’t know that his brother had recently, inconveniently gained an incestuous crush on him.





	1. Cigar Talks

A heavily calloused thumb grazed over the cold metal lighter before flicking it open and lighting up chocolate brown eyes with a warm flame.

Stanley watched the flame sway with the gently rocking boat as the waves cradled the Stan o’ War II with care. The day had been long and tiring. Stanford laid by his side, buried under thick blankets, exhausted from all of his hard work. It was a well deserved rest. Stanley glanced down and smiled softly at his brother. All he could see of his beloved twin was from the nose up with a small piece of a smile at the corner of his lip curling above the covers. He was glad that his brother was happy.

Stanley’s eyes slid back to his lighter and his smile faded away. He stared at the flame before lowering his cut cigar to hover over the open flame and pulled it away when the tip glowed a vibrant orange. He snapped the lighter closed and examined it as he placed the cigar between his lips. He gently puffed on the cigar as his fingertips traced over the smooth, designless surface of the lighter. He never realized it before, but this lighter was similar to the one he had thirty years ago. The spitting image of the lighter he tried to use to burn his brother’s journal. Stanley lightly scowled and closed his eyes as he set the lighter on the nightstand beside him. He leaned back against the wall and crossed one leg over the other as he took hold of his cigar as he pulled in a deep drag. He pulled the cigar from his lips and let out a sigh as smoke rolled off his tongue.

Oh yeah. That hit the spot.

Stanley closed his eyes and tilted his back slightly as he allowed himself to relax.

A soft groan came from his side as Stanford began to awake. His brows furrowed and his eyelids slowly fluttered open to look up at Stanley with bleary and tired eyes. “St’nly…?” Stanford murmured.

Stanley’s eyes opened in surprise and glanced down at his brother before getting distracted by a long string of smoke curling from his mouth. “Shit, sorry for waking you, Ford. I’ll go outside and finish it,” Stan said as he began to move.

Stanford took hold of Stanley’s wrist and made his brother still while perched on the edge of the bed. “Don’t. I’m ‘kay,” Ford mumbled as he rubbed his face deep into his (and Stanley’s) pillow.

“Hm, if you’re sure. I don’t want to keep you awake,” Stanley said as he slowly began to settled back onto the bed, giving his brother time to change his mind. However Ford said nothing as his brother sat back down on their shared bed and kept his finger wrapped loosely around Stanley’ wrist.

Minutes passed with only the sound of the waves and the cigar burning interrupting their peace. Stanley rolled off some of the ash onto the tray sitting beside him when Ford, whom Stan thought had fallen asleep again, let out a conflicted moan. “God that smells too good to ignore. Hand it over,” Ford grumbled as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and began shuffling towards his brother.

“You smoke?” Stanley asked with a raised brow.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had anything from this universe, but yeah,” Ford replied as he pulled his legs under his body and leaned heavily against his brother. Stanley blushed at the feeling of his brother’s naked torso pressing against his bare shoulder. He honestly shouldn’t be blushing considering that he was looking at his own **_brother_** , but damnit he can’t help that his brother is fucking cute and hot as hell. Literally. Those blankets made his body feel unusually warm since the boat tended to be rather cold. Of course that didn’t stop Ford from stripping down to only his tight ass black boxer briefs that clung to all the right places and gave Stan a heart attack. Of course Ford didn’t know that his brother had recently, inconveniently gained an incestuous crush on him.

“Stan?” Ford asked, cracking an eye open.

“Sorry. Here,” Stan offered as he held out the cigar.

Ford plucked the cigar from Stan’s fingertips and suddenly time seemed to slow down to a sluggish pace. Stanley watched as his brother’s pink lips wrapped loosely around the cigar and his chest expanded as he pulled in a deep drag and with a long, moaning sigh white smoke rolled from his wet mouth. That was more of a turn on than it should’ve been.

“Holy shit that’s good. Not what I would’ve expected from you, though,” Stanford commented as he licked his lips.

“Why do you say that?” Stanley asked with a raised brow.

“I expected more of an…alcohol kind of taste from your cigars. Not Colombian coffee, caramel, and salt,” Stanford chuckled as he took another drag.

Stanley smiled crookedly and stared down at his lap. “I tend to avoid ones that taste alcoholic. I’ve been…I had a lot of issues with alcohol over the years and Soos had been encouraging me to stop for a while. When the kids came around I started taking him seriously. I didn’t want the kids to be around that kind of thing or be influenced by my actions to try it themselves. And I’m not always a friendly drunk either, so…,” Stanley said, letting his voice trail off.

Stanford’s smile faltered as he became concerned. “When did you start drinking like that?” he asked, hoping that Stan’s answer wouldn’t match the one in his head.

“Not long after dad kicked me out. I got into a lot of situations where alcohol was more or less forced upon me and at some point it just helped me cope with, y’know, everything,” Stan replied as he began picking lint off of the blankets in his lap.

Stanford cringed and avoided looking at his brother as guilt washed through his body in waves. “Here. It’s your turn,” Ford murmured as he held out the cigar.

Stanley took the cigar and breathed in a deep drag before sliding his eyes over to his brother whom now did the same thing he did moments ago. At this rate they were going to destroy their blanket.

“So, when did you start smoking?” Stanley blurted.

Ford paused and met Stanley’s eyes with a surprised look before smiling and dropping his head again. “In college. My first year. I was really stressed and I went for a walk when I happened to glance into a convenience store and I saw the cigarette brand that you smoked. At least, the ones you smoked in high school.”

Stanley raised a brow but didn’t interrupt his brother’s story.

“I hacked up a lung my first try, but I got used to it eventually. It helped me relax and it was comforting because the smell reminded me of you,” Stanford confessed with a chuckle as he scratched the back of his head, “I didn’t start smoking cigars until after graduation. Fiddleford smoked them often and he gave me a few here and there. I didn’t smoke them much because they took too long to smoke. You know how I am. I can’t really sit for too long so I usually stuck with cigarettes.”

“I didn’t think you could ever get stressed out when it comes to school. Especially not to the point of picking up a bad habit,” Stan commented.

“Well it was either cigarettes or drugs and after one night at a weird party I decided that drugs were far too unpredictable for a coping mechanism,” Ford said.

“You’ve done drugs before? Like, illegal non-prescription kind?” Stan asked with a shocked face.

“Yep,” Stanford replied with a smug grin.

“What was it, if I may ask?” Stan asked in suspicion.

“Marijuana,” Ford said with pride.

That’s when Stanley broke. He nearly choked on the cigar as he burst into uncontrollable laughter, not noticing the way Stanford’s face soured as he pouted.

“What! What’s so funny about that?” Ford demanded.

“O-of all th-things to choose from. And it’s the **_baby_ ** drug. You had me thinking that you’d been roofied or had taken ecstasy or something. _Marijuana_. Ha!” Stanley snorted as he took another drag from the cigar.

“Oh shut up. Like you’ve done anything worse,” Ford scoffed.

“Honey, I’ve **_sold_ ** worse. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about,” Stanley chuckled.

“Did you just call me honey? Wait, you’ve **_sold_ ** worse? You were a drug dealer?” Ford asked.

Stanley was thankful that Ford had dismissed his slip up but he also didn’t want to answer this question either. “Yeah. Once you get caught up in the non-legal part of the world it’s pretty hard to get out of it,” Stan remarked.

“How do you go from being a thief to conducting business as a drug dealer?” Ford asked with slight amusement.

Stanley turned away and nervously scratched his head. “I, ah, I didn’t start out as a thief. I, um, at first I was, ah…well…I was a…a prostitute?” Stanley replied as if asking Stanford to confirm what he already knew was true. His heart was hammering in his chest. He had never planned on telling his brother that bit of information. Never ever in his lifetime. Yet here he was. Him and his big ol’ mouth. Telling Ford everything.

After a few minutes of silence Stan turned his head to look at Stanford. He expected disgust, but instead received wide eyed shock.

“You were…you were a prostitute?” he asked in disbelief.

Stan smiled weakly and nodded his head, “Yeah. It, ah, lasted a few years. And then I only did it when I needed money. I stopped when I hit my forties. Business at the shack had really picked up then so I didn’t have to worry about money as much as I used to.”

Wow. When the floodgates opened they didn’t know when to shut up.

“Who did you…who did you service?”

Stanley froze. That’s not something he expected his brother to ask. They had never spoken about sexual orientations before. Sure during high school they each pointed out pretty girls, but it was more of an obvious statement than anything else. They had spent more time with each other in their own little world than exploring or discussing sexualities. Maybe that’s why it took Stanley over fifty fucking years for him to realize that he was in love with his brother.

But the question was, did he really want to be honest with Stanford?

Stanley stared hard at his brother’s face. After all this time, he should be able to trust his brother with the truth, right?

“I, uh, serviced both…both men and women. I’m not really picky when it comes to…partners in bed,” Stanley mumbled as his face turned dark red.

Fuck his heart was hammering. Distraction. He needed a distraction. His eyes caught sight of his cigar that desperately needed to lose ash. He turned away from his brother and distracted himself by rolling off the ash into the tray, his eyes somehow fascinated by sight.

“I slept with Fiddleford.”

Stanley stilled and peered over his shoulder.

Stanford blushed but didn’t look away.

“He and I were…well, we had a thing during college. And a few years after college. And maybe we shared a kiss before you and I left Gravity Falls,” Stanford said shyly.

Stanley couldn’t believe it. Stanford had been with a man. Stanford had been with a _**man**_. Wait a minute. “You slept with opossum breath?” Stanley asked, a smile growing on his face as he turned to face his brother.

“Hey! Be nice to Fiddleford! He’s a brilliant man! He’s a great friend and I wouldn’t have been able to make it through college without him. He encouraged me a lot and he’s always been there for me,” Ford said as he scratched his shoulder.

Stanley didn’t know whether to be elated or upset. On the one hand, Stanford had been with a man which means Stanley had one _millionth_ of a chance to be with his own brother. (Yeah, okay, that chance just got diminished when he addressed his crush as his brother.) On the other hand, Stanford has speaking of Fiddleford as if he were in love with him.

“Are you in love with Fiddleford?” Stanley asked.

“Huh? No! I mean, we never really dated. We slept together and we love each other in a platonic kind of way but there really wasn’t…I don’t know. I felt like something was missing. Like there was no history between us. I mean, now there is, but it’s just missing something. I feel like we’d need more similarities. Like we need to be more of a single person existing than two people in a relationship,” Stanford said.

_How about your twin brother whom you’ve known since we were conceived and literally was apart of you until our egg split in two;_ Stanley thought.

“I…I probably sound a bit crazy, don’t I?” Stanford chuckled.

“N-no! Of course not. I totally get what you mean. You want someone who knows and understands you without havin’ to ask you. Someone who can read yer soul just by lookin’ atcha. Someone that you feel like you’ve known for so long that there’s…there’s no possible way that they could ever be a stranger,” Stanley said, his eyes suddenly stilling on his brother’s lips.

Stanford smiled as a light blush ate at his cheeks. “Yeah. That’s exactly it,” he said softly.

God that smile was gorgeous. He wanted so desperately to feel those pink lips against his own. It probably wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience for Ford since Stan’s lips were chapped as fuck, but the urge to kiss him anyways was far too strong. Strong enough to make Stanley realize that he was leaning in for a kiss.

“Uh, want the last drag?” Stanley asked, holding out the now short cigar.

Stanford smiled and took the cigar from Stan’s grasp and placed it at his lips. Stanley gulped as he watched his brother’s lips encase the cigar once again. Watched as his brother’s hairy chest inflate. Watched as the smoke danced off his brother’s tongue that Stan so desperately wanted to touch.

“Mhhmm that was fantastic. We should do this more often,” Stanford said as he leaned around his brother to dispose of the cigar.

Stanley held his breath as Ford got dangerously close to laying on top of him. God he was so close. So fucking close. Stan could grab him by the shoulders and yank him forward into the kiss of his life…but then that would risk everything they had. It was too soon after they reconciled to ruin it all with his incestuous feelings.

“Bleh, I think it’s time we go to bed. We’re gonna need the rest for tomorrow,” Ford said with a large yawn and a smile.

“Y-yeah. We should,” Stan stuttered.

He had to keep it all to himself. All of it. He could never let Stanford know how he felt.

Ford slipped back under the covers and snuggled lovingly with the pillows under his head. He hadn’t even realized that he took Stanley’s pillow. There was no way Stanley was going to say anything. Stanford looked far too happy and peaceful. And if Stanley were being honest with himself, a part of him hoped that Ford’s scent would linger on the pillow when he got it back.

Shit.

He was in way too deep.


	2. Heavy Speech

Stanley was in such trouble.

Part of the trick of keeping his crush on Stanford secret was to be able to, y’know, control himself around his brother. Stanley has never had very good self-control. Not with alcohol. Not with food. Not with money. None of it. Ford was just another temptation he wouldn’t be able to keep his greedy little hands off of. He should’ve known he was going to be like this.

Stanley couldn’t keep his eyes off of his brother. He watched Ford from the corner of his eyes as he dressed, unknowing of his brother’s heated gaze. He watched Stanford wrestle with the fish netting with a large grin on his face as he dragged an energetic catch onto the boat seemingly single handedly because Stan was too busy watching his brother to really help. He watched as Ford’s hands roamed over a lucky map as he rambled about geometry or some nerd shit he wasn’t listening to because he just suddenly noticed how _beautiful_ Stanford’s hands were. He watched how his brother lifted a glass of water to his lips and the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he chugged the water down. He watched how his brother sat. How his brother ate. How his brother _breathed_.

It was ridiculous.

Stanley had never acted like this with the other people he had crushed on.

Of course…none of them had been Stanford.

Stanley sighed and leaned heavily against the railing of the boat, resting his warm forehead against the cold metal. He needed to calm down before this got out of hand. If Stanford ever found out…

A hand gently pressed against his back and rubbed back and forth across his shoulders in a fast but oddly comforting manner. “You doing okay, Stanley?” Stanford asked.

Stanley lifted his head to peek above his arms and watched as Ford leaned back against the railing with a large smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. Fuck that smile was beautiful.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Just tired,” Stan said with an unconvincing smile.

“Well, if you need to relax we can light up a cigar like last night. If you have more, that is,” Stanford chuckled.

Stanley knew that he was staring too much. He knew he should’ve said something back but he just…he just couldn’t stop staring at his brother. He hadn’t seen Ford this happy in so long. Maybe he had never seen Ford _this_ happy _ever_. Even looking back into their childhood he doesn’t remember his brother glowing with a golden happiness that he saw now. Stanley didn’t want that to ever go away.

“Yeah. I have plenty,” Stanley said with a smile as he stood up to his full height.

Stanford’s smile seemed to drop from his face before he began to snicker into his hand.

“Now what’re you laughin’ at?” Stanley demanded tartly as he rested his hands on his hips.

“It’s nothing, really. N-nothing at all,” Stanford managed to squeeze between his grinning lips.

“Just tell me, Stanford. Ya obviously won’t be able to avoid me. We’re on a boat. In the middle of the ocean. Yer not goin’ anywhere,” Stan replied as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stanford searched his brother’s face before chuckling as he reached out and scrubbed Stanley’s beanie onto his head. “I just never noticed that you were shorter than me. You really are my _little brother_ aren’t you?” Ford teased as he pulled the beanie down to cover Stan’s eyes.

Stanley blushed violently at the playfulness in Stanford’s voice and his actions. He knew that this was nothing more than brotherly teasing, but the romantic side of him was screaming that Ford was flirting with him. An obvious lie he was telling himself, but a lie he rather liked. But he shoved all idiotic feelings aside as he pushed his beanie up and scowled at his brother.

“It’s not my fault! I blame malnourishment. The streets aren’t exactly lined with warm homemade meals,” Stanley grumbled as he followed his brother into their sleeping quarters.

“Wait, Stanley were you starving?” Stanford asked as he removed his jacket.

Stanley made himself smaller at the sight of his brother’s concerned gaze. He hadn’t meant to tell him that either. Yeesh, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Well…yeah. I was homeless, Stanford. I didn’t have an income either. I had some cash in my wallet but I used it to fill up my car and bought some snacks with whatever was left. And no one was willing to hire a deadbeat drop out so it was hard for a while. I ate from the trash a lot. More than I ever wanted to. And I begged a bit. Although some people wanted something in return which is what started my prostitution career. The first time wasn’t fun, but I got paid well and I was able to feed myself so I didn’t complain. There were times I still went hungry but it wasn’t as bad as when I was first kicked out,” Stanley said as he chucked his jacket onto the floor. His mouth was the equivalent to a bursting dam at this point.

Stanford sank down onto the edge of their bed with a sad look on his face. “I never knew…well I never thought…,” Stanford dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to finish his sentence.

Stanley watched him before sighing and tossing his life vest aside as he sat down beside his brother. “It’s not that big of a deal, For-.”

“But it is! My life has been so much easier than your’s and that’s unfair. It’s my fault-.”

“You’re life doesn’t sound like it was easier at all,” Stanley interrupted, “You were so stressed out in college that you picked up smoking and it sounded like Fiddleford had to encourage you a lot to keep going. And I read your journals, Stanford. When you spiral, you spiral _hard_. I know you don’t like admitting defeat, but I know exactly what that demon Bill did to you. Losing your sanity is no walk in the park. Trust me. I know.”

Stanford blushed and stared back down at his lap. “…You know how you told me that you were an alcoholic yesterday?” Stanford asked quietly.

“Yeah?” Stanley asked as he yanked off his boots and threw them across the small room.

“I…I may have the same problem,” he admitted in a small whisper.

“I figured,” Stan said as he laid back on the bed and stretched his arm out to the nightstand. Stanford watched him with an incredulous look on his face as Stanley pulled a box of cigars from the drawer.

“What do you mean you figured? Even Fiddleford didn’t know about that!” Ford exclaimed.

“I found your whiskey stash, Stanford,” Stanley said as he pulled a cigar from the box and snapped it closed.

_And I can smell it on you. And you don’t hide it as well as you think;_ Stanley thought.

Ford blushed and avoided his brother’s gaze, “…How long have you known?”

“Since you went through the portal,” Stan replied as he cut the tip from the cigar.

“That long? But…how?” Stanford asked.

“After you got sucked through the portal I kinda went through your entire house searching for the other journals. And I was also a bit emotionally unstable so I broke a few things too. Sorry about that. Anyways, I stumbled across your alcohol selection and it looked like it was something that was touched and replenished often. I’m gonna be honest, I never pegged you as a margarita man,” Stanley replied as he pulled out his lighter.

“I’m not, actually. The margaritas were, um, they were-.”

“Fiddleford’s?”

“They were Bill’s.”

A flame flickered to life and danced joyfully before Stan when it was suddenly suffocated as Stanley closed the lighter and turned to stare at his brother.

Stanford avoided his brother’s gaze and watched the floor with intense interest.

He wasn’t getting away from this.

“Stanford, what do you mean they were Bill’s? He didn’t live in the physical word so he wouldn’t have physical possessions, right?” Stanley asked.

“That is true. Unless he was allowed to use someone’s body and took advantage of them by causing external and internal physical damage. For instance, drinking until I decided that it was more convenient to sleep by the toilet than waste time running from the bed to the bathroom,” Ford replied with a gulp.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Stan hissed under his breath as he dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his suddenly aching head.

“Yeah. I guess my body grew used to the abuse and became addicted to alcohol and I just couldn’t shake the urge to drink. Of course when I started going…I started drinking on my own to calm my nerves. It obviously didn’t work because otherwise I wouldn’t have put that metal plate in my head if I were calm and sound of mind,” Stanford chuckled humorlessly.

“But you were scared. You had reason to react that way. I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have while I was scared.”

“Like what?”

Stanley’s eyes stared off into the distance before lowering to the cigar and lighter in his hands. He flicked the top of the lighter open and brought the flame to life as he held the cigar over the fire and rolled it. Once the tip burned a familiar orange he snapped the lighter shit and set it aside as he began distracting himself by puffing on the cigar.

“Stanley…what are you hiding?” Stanford asked slowly.

“Nothin’ important.”

“Tell me.”

“Not happenin’.”

“Stanley-.”

“I said no.”

“You’re going to have to tell me at some point, remember? We’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean. You aren’t going anywhere,” Ford said.

Stanley scowled. He should’ve known that comment would come back to bite him.

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes, I do. Please tell me.”

“I tried to kill myself.”

Even though the words were heavy on his tongue they seemed to bounce and echo through the room. And okay, so maybe that time was a really big deal for him and it still made his throat tighten and maybe tears burned in his eyes, but there was no fucking way he was going to dig back into the past. It was history. It was a scar that didn’t need to be scratched at. A corpse buried deep underground. Better left untouched than uncovered. Fuck, and they were supposed to be relaxing right now.

“Look, Ford I don’t-.”

Hands appeared at his shoulders and he was shoved roughly onto his back on the bed. He grunted at the force and the cigar fell from his hand and bounced on the wood floor as he stared at Ford with wide eyes.

“How could you even _think_ to do that to yourself! Why would you do such a thing!” Stanford demanded.

Stanley’s eye twitched and his anger flashed. “Because I was alone and depressed and self-loathing! That’s why! I didn’t have a Fiddleford! I had no one to hold me up! All I had was debt and a lot of people out for me. I didn’t make friends. I made enemies. No one cared for me, Stanford. No one!”

“I cared for you! I-.”

“You had a great way of showing it,” Stanley snapped.

His brother’s reaction was instant. Stanford recoiled from his words as if he had been struck and the fire in his eyes died down to murky, sad waters. He dropped his head and pulled his hands away as he sat back, allowing Stanley to push himself up onto his elbows.

“You’re right. This is all my fault,” Stanford murmured in a broken voice.

Shit.

_Shit_.

This derailed completely.

_Fuck_.

“Stanford this isn’t your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. I was a clingy, selfish little jerk and I didn’t want you to have a life without me so I took my anger out on your project. I didn’t mean to break it, but I definitely shouldn’t have been around it and I should have told you what happened so you could fix it. I ruined everything between us because of that.”

“No, no. I should’ve been more considerate of your feelings. I should have tried to figure out a way for you to go with me to college or find something for us to do together. I just kicked you to the curb without a second thought and I’m so sorry for that, Stanley. I was so awful to you and I-.”

Stanley suddenly wrapped his arms around Stanford and hugged him with everything he had.

“How about we blame dad instead?” Stanley murmured in his ear.

Stanford laughed as he choked on his tears and hugged Stanley back. “Sounds like a good plan,” he gasped.

Stanley smiled and buried his face deep in the junction between his brother’s neck and shoulder. His brother’s arms felt so good wrapped around his body. He loved the way Ford’s hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as if he never wanted to let him go. Stanley pressed his nose against Stanford’s skin and took in a deep breath. Mother _fuck_ Stanford smelled amazing. He smelled just like his pillow. Like a wet, earthy forest with crisp, clean air. It was _amazing_.

“Stanley…where’s the cigar?” Stanford asked.

Fuck.

“Shit,” Stanley hissed as he pulled away. He rolled over peer over the bed and spotted the cigar smoking on the wood floors. He snatched it off the floor before the ash could do any serious damage and sighed in relief.

“Lucky for us it didn’t do any damage to the boat. Want me to light another one for you?” Stan asked as he turned back to his twin.

“No thank you. I’d rather share, if that’s okay with you,” Ford said with a crooked smile.

Stan smiled softly and chuckled as he pulled his brother in for another hug. “Of course it’s okay,” Stanley murmured as he pressed his cheek atop his brother’s head.

Ford hugged him back and Stanley’s smile doubled in size. Fuck. This crush wasn’t going away any time soon. They pulled away and moved to sit further up on the bed and pressed their backs against the wall. Once again Ford leaned heavily against his brother and molded against his side, resting his cheek on his shoulder as Stanley took a drag.

“We’re pretty messed up, aren’t we?” Stanford asked.

Stanley blew the smoke from his mouth before handing the cigar over to his twin whom took it gratefully from his fingers.

“We could be worse,” Stanley replied.

Stanford snorted smoke through his nose and chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth. But, even if we were the worst people in all existence…I’m glad you’re here with me, Stanley,” Stanford said, smiling widely at his brother.

That smile shot right through Stanley’s heart. God his brother was too fucking cute. And way too caring.

“Um, Stanley, if you don’t mind me asking…how did you try to kill yourself?”

“A gun to my head.” Stanford paused.

“What kept you from pulling the trigger?”

Stanley smiled and laid his head on top of Stanford’s. “I didn’t want to risk not seeing you again,” he said.

Stanford chuckled and grinned from ear to ear. “I’m glad I could protect you even without being there,” he murmured as his eyes closed.

Stanley won’t tell Ford how he actually did pull the trigger. He won’t tell him that the gun slipped and only nicked his leg instead of ending his life.

Intending to keep this little secret he turned his head and gave his brother a motionless and undetectable kiss on his head and breathed in his scent again.


	3. Smoked Downpour

Smoking cigars late at night on their bed with the stars shining and the waves rocking the boat back and forth became somewhat of a habit or a ritual for the two old men. Not a good nightly routine for men their age, but then again they only had so long left to live. And it felt good to share their lives with one another. They got to compare adventures and struggles and console one another. They spent days breaking down their walls and building each other back up. They had a lot of damage to fix, but the process was sweet and the outcome was well worth it. Sometimes they fought as brothers do, but they always ended up in the same bed sharing the same cigar every night.

This night was no different.

“So you were married, huh?” Stanford said as a gush of smoke crawled from his lips.

“Yeah. It didn’t last long, though. Seriously, it only lasted six hours,” Stanley mumbled around the cigar in his mouth.

“Oh my God, only six hours? How did you guys fuck that up so bad?” Stanford laughed.

Stanley snickered and pulled the cigar from his mouth as he basked in the conjoining flavors flirtatiously brushing along his tongue. “Apparently she was an assassin working for a guy I owed money to. Beautiful woman. I should’ve seen it comin’,” Stanley tsked with a shake of his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stanford asked with a raised brow as he pulled away from his twin.

Stanley raised a brow back. “Ain’t it obvious? She was drop dead gorgeous. Her an’ I bein’ an actual couple would be like…how do I put this in nerd terms…like two south pole ends of a magnet attractin’ each other,” Stan said.

“Don’t say that about yourself. You’re a handsome guy,” Stanford replied as he settled back against his brother’s side and stole the cigar from Stan’s hand.

“You…you think I’m handsome?” Stanley asked in surprise.

“Well…of course. After all you have my face,” Stanford said with a smug grin.

Stanley snorted at his words and rolled his shoulder to jokingly push his brother away, but he couldn’t stop his heart from drumming happily in his chest or keep the butterflies from fluttering inside his nervous and giddy stomach. Their new habit had done nothing to diminish his newfound crush on Stanford. In fact, it’s pretty much only aided in it. The need to pull his brother into his arms and protect him from the world only grew more and more every day. His crush was getting dangerous. He found himself touching Stanford for far too long. Standing too close or watching too much. Even their sleeping arrangement was becoming a problem. Instead of staying on his side of the bed, Stanley found himself migrating over to Stanford at night. Ever so slowly trying to wrap his arms around his brother and pull him against his chest. At this rate he may have to start sleeping on his own. Coming up with an excuse wouldn’t be easy but at least it would be better than having to tell Ford why he was spooning him in the middle of the night.

“Hey Stan…would you mind if I looked at your scar?”

Stanley blinked and gave his brother a confused look. “Uh, which one?”

Stanford frowned at his words, obviously not enjoying learning that his brother had more than one. “The one on your shoulder. The one I gave you,” he replied.

“Look, Stanford you were only-.”

“Just-please…please let me see it,” Stanford asked with large, begging eyes.

Yeah, Stanley didn’t stand a chance against those eyes.

Stan sighed and grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled the clothing over his head, blushing as he turned his back to his brother and used the shirt to cover the front of his body.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Stanford. I don’t even think abou-.”

Stanley let out a gasp when his brother’s cold fingers brushed over his skin. The calloused fingertips traced over the smooth and raised surface of his scar, the touch making Stanley shiver as the hair on his arms stood on end.

“ _Jesus_ …this had to be so painful,” Stanford murmured.

The hair on Stanley’s neck stood tall as Stanford’s breath rushed over his sensitive skin. Stan bit his lip as a blush engulfed his cheeks and he lowered the shirt to cover a bulge forming between his legs. Now _really_ wasn’t the time to be getting a boner. _Never_ was the preferable time for that. But Stanford’s fingers felt so good on his skin and his breath ghosting across his neck was just so _erotic_ for some reason. _Fuck_.

“I can still hear that horrible scream you let out when I pushed you. God, the smell of your skin burning was just so _awful_. I could even taste it on my tongue. I can still can sometimes. Stanley, I’m so sorry for doing that to you. I can’t believe I hurt you like this. I gave you a scar. What kind of brother does that?” Stanford muttered.

“What kind of brother pushes his twin through a portal?” Stanley remarked. He pulled his shirt back over his head and turned back to face his brother, making sure to place his arm in front of his pants to cover himself. “I wasn’t any better to you than you were to me,” Stanley assured.

Stanford dropped his gaze down to his lap and sighed, “I guess.”

Stanley frowned as he watched his brother. He wanted Stanford to smile again. While he loved these talks with his brother, he hated how it made Ford’s smile fall from his face. Stanley placed the cigar at his lips and took in the last deep drag as the gears in his mind churned to find an answer.

Stanford glanced up at Stanley and smiled with a light pout on his face. “Aw, I wanted to finish the cigar again. I like the last drag the best,” Stanford chuckled.

_Give it to him._

Stanley’s adam’s apple bobbed at the thought.

_Give it to him. It’ll make him happy. It’ll make him smile._

It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he gave it to him, right? Stanford would understand. Stanford would _want_ for Stanley to share. Stanford wouldn’t care about how he got it, just that he got it. So, he wouldn’t mind if…

Stanley leaned forward slowly. His hand moved to cup Stanford’s jaw before taking hold of his chin and bringing him in close. God, he smelled so fucking wonderful.

“Stanley?” Ford asked, confused and wary.

Stanley began to tilt his head as his eyes became lidded and closed as his lips pressed against Stanford’s. Holy shit they were soft. Stan parted his lips and moaned, allowing the heavy smoke to roll off his tongue and slip into Stanford’s open mouth. His hand moved to the back of Ford’s head and cupped his neck and tugged on his hair as he pulled Stanford closer and closer as he deepened their kiss.

“Holy shit,” Stanley murmured between wet kisses, salty and sweet smoke billowing from their mouths and caressing their faces.

Stanford’s lips were so _full_ and _plump_ and he couldn’t stop kissing them. He wanted to spend every last minute of his life kissing these lips. He wanted to bite them. He wanted to taste them. He wanted to taste Ford. And he did. His teeth nibbled and pulled on Stanford’s bottom lip before he angled his head just right and brushed his tongue over Stanford’s. Holy _shit_ he tasted wonderful. Stanley groaned as his hand trailed over his brother’s back and down to his hips where Stanley took the liberty to tug Ford’s body against his own. He never imagined that Stanford would feel so good and _perfect_ against him. And the way he felt under his hand and against his lips. And the way he tasted on his tongue. It was no wonder that he was left breathless and had to pull away.

Stanley kissed Stanford one last time before pulling back with a gasp, smiling at his twin. The smile quickly bled away as reality returned to his love spoiled brain. He had kissed Stanford. He kissed his twin. His **_brother_**. And Ford was watching him with huge eyes and, oh god was he shaking? Because of him? And now he was pulling away until he was clear on the other side of the bed. Oh fuck he looked so betrayed and wounded.

What has Stanley _**done**_?

“Stanley…what did you just do?” Stanford asked as his hands clawed at the bedsheets below.

Lie. He has to lie. That’s the only way out of this.

But he can’t. Not to Stanford. Not when Stanford obviously knew what happened.

Jesus, the look on Stanford’s face. Stanley had never felt so low. And his heart might be broken for the last time. This was the final blow that made it all shatter.

He was such an _idiot_.

“I’m so sorry, Stanford,” Stanley whispered.

Without another word Stanley scrambled out of their bed and raced for the door. He wrenched the door open and slammed it closed behind him as he raced to the front of the boat. His hands caught the railing and held him back from toppling over the edge as tears burned in his eyes. How could he be so _**stupid**_? Why did he have to kiss Stanford? Why did he have to make his feelings known? Why couldn’t he just do something **_right_ ** for once?

“God _ **damnit**_ ,” Stanley cursed. He fell to his knees and clung to the railing as he watched the rough waves lap at the sides of the boat. He was just one big fuck up after another.

A fat wet drop of rain fell onto his head and slowly soaked into his hair. And then another drop fell. And then another. Suddenly the sky let out a roaring cry as light flashed and rain poured down on his body.

Of course it starts raining.

Within seconds his clothes clung to his body in a vice tight grip and pulled him down with the heavy weight of the rain and his swirling emotions. He slowly laid himself down on his back with his arms and legs spread wide, inviting the biting cold of the rain to wash over his body. Maybe if he was lucky he’d get sick and die. Or maybe the waves would wash him off the deck and drag him down into a deep watery grave. Either would work for him at this point.

Stanley stared up at the vicious black clouds above him as rain dripped from his glasses. He slowly closed his eyes as lightning tore through the sky and awaited for the cruelty of unsettled waves to overtake him.

What kind of brother was he?


	4. Overused Duffle Bag

A small seagull floated above the Stan o’ War II, bobbing back and forth in search for a place to land. The rising sun’s rays stroked the bird’s white feathers as it spotted the perfect place to land. The seagull gently fluttered down to a body roasting pink under the sun and landed beside the head and gave the human a curious stare. Humans didn’t usually rest under the sun without some form of protection, but this one had none. Maybe the seagull should wake him up. The bird leaned in, pressing his beak into the human’s ear, and let out an ear shattering screech.

“FUCKING SHIT!” Stanley screamed as his body jolted to life. He scrambled into a sitting position and glared at the seagull as he covered his wounded ear.

“You little bastard!” Stanley hissed as he leapt at the seagull, but unfortunately slipped on a puddle of water from the night before hand and landed hard on his stomach. His jaw struck the floor and his vision blurred as his whole head vibrated from the pain as the seagull slipped away.

Stanley groaned and clutched his head as he slowly pushed himself back into a sitting position. He didn’t even remember falling asleep last night, but hell if he wasn’t feeling it. Every part of his body was stiff and burned and his clothes were still soaking wet and making him uncomfortable as hell.

He had a hard night.

And it was all his fault.

Stanley sighed and rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he?

“Stanley?”

_Shit_.

Stanley struggled to his feet and rushed to hide behind the nearest and only wall the boat had to give and threw his back against the long set of windows. Mother **_fuck_ ** he had to get out of here. There was no way he could talk to Stanford about his feelings. He could barely do that with a girl he had a crush on and he **_wasn’t_ ** related to her. Talking to Stanford was going to be impossible. And that’s **_if_ ** Stanford wanted to talk. To be honest, Stanley wouldn’t be surprised if Stanford wanted to knock his teeth out or throw him overboard. A non-consensual kiss _like that_ from _his very own brother_ was not going to be easily dismissed.

“Stanley, I need to talk to you,” Stanford called out.

“That is so not gonna happen,” Stanley whispered under his breath.

He began to slowly and silently make his way across the wall, carefully listening for Stanford’s boots. He peered around the corner and swallowed. Stanford had his back turned to him, but he was right beside the door that lead to the stateroom. He could get through, but he had to be very sneaky. Good thing he was a thief. Stanley took a small step forward. And then another. He had never prayed so hard in his life to not be seen. And he’s been chased by a lot of things that no one would want to be found by.

_Please don’t turn around. Please don’t hear me. Please forget me. Just forget everything. Please forget me._

Stanley’s heart was going to give him away. It was loud as it pounded against his chest. He was so close to the door. So close to Ford. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was pounding. His vision was blurring. Maybe he was under the sun for far too long. Maybe he was panicking. With his luck it would be both.

A smooth metal handle brushed against his fingertips and snapped him back to reality. He was so close. He wrapped his fingers around the warm metal and paused.

One.

Two.

Three!

Stanley ripped the door open and dashed inside, quickly slamming the door behind him and locking it.

“Stanley! Stanley let me in! Open the door!” Stanford snapped as his angry fist struck the window as his hand jiggled the handle.

He needed a chair.

Stanley grabbed a wooden chair and angled the back under the door handle, jumping back when Ford violently rattled the door.

“Stanley, come on! Let me in!” Stanford growled.

_No thanks_ ; Stanley thought.

He reached out and pulled down the blinds one by one until every window was covered and Stanford was nothing but a shadow to his eyes.

Stanford tried the door one last time before letting out a frustrated growl and storming away with his heavy boots beating on the wood floors. Stanley sighed in relief and turned to face the room. His eyes widened and he felt his broken heart fade to dust. Their room was a mess. Blankets and sheets were tossed around the room as if they had been used to get out anger and frustration rather than help Stanford sleep. The room smelled heavily of cigars and cigarettes and Stan quickly found out why. On the nightstand beside Ford’s side of the bed was a large stack of used cigarettes and cigars. Stanley’s cigar box was completely empty.

“Stanford…,” Stanley murmured lowly, his throat closing with emotion.

He took a step forward but paused when his foot came in contact with something hollow and glass. He glanced down and his eyes quickly welled up with tears. It was a bottle of whiskey. And it wasn’t the only one. They laid empty throughout the room. Every drop that was in them before now gone, leaving the glass dry.

Stanford had spent the whole night drinking.

Because of **_him_**.

Stanley swallowed dryly, the lump in his throat making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Why? Why did he have to do this to them? Why did Stanley have to always ruin **_everything_**? Was that his destiny? To fuck up everything in his wake? Was he some source of amusement to a deity? Why? Why him? Why **_Stanford_**? Why did he have to keep hurting him?

Stanley gasped in realization as tears rolled down his cheeks.

He didn’t have to hurt Stanford anymore. He could end this. But he would have act fast.

Stanley stepped around the large bottles of whiskey and scattered ash to the bed and reached under to pull out a large dufflebag. It was dark green and faded at the edges from overuse. This thing had been with him for far too long, but it seemed that he was going to travel with it one last time. Stanley began dashing around the room, shoving everything he owned into his bag. It didn’t take long to fill. He never really had anything. He placed a picture of Mabel and Dipper on top and began zipping the bag when he paused and glanced over at the bed. He should take a blanket. He was going to need something besides his jacket to help keep him warm. But he couldn’t do that to Stanford. Stanford needed exactly four blankets to stay warm at night and Stanley wouldn’t dare leave him only three. He’ll just have to steal one when he gets into town. Now where was that damn safety raft?

Stanley zipped up his bag and tossed it over his shoulder as he kicked the chair away and unlocked the door, and paused. He should leave. He needs to leave. He **_has_ ** to leave. But why won’t his feet move? Why does he feel like he’s locked in place? He can make it on his own. He can live on the streets again. He knows how. He’s not helpless.

Tears burned in Stanley’s eyes and began to roll down his cheeks as he took a step away from the door.

He was so weak. He couldn’t bear to go through that again. He couldn’t live on the streets again. He couldn’t dig through trash for his next meal. He couldn’t do it again. He can’t live without Ford. Even if Stanford hated his guts because of what he’s done, he just _**can’t** _ be without Ford.

Stanley released a shaky breath as he began to sob. “When did you become so _weak_ , Stan Pines?” he said to himself.

Stanley fell to his knees as his pained wails grew loud and echoed off the walls. He was such a weak cry baby. He couldn’t live without his brother. Pathetic.

The handle on the door jiggled and opened to reveal Stanford who nervously fingered the plastic wrap around a large bouquet of flowers. “Stanley, I need to tell you-,” Stanford froze upon hearing a sob and stared down at his brother with wide eyes.

Stanley tried to smile but his lips continued to fall as tears blurred his vision. “I can’t leave, Stanford. I just can’t. I-I know you probably hate me…but I just can’t live on the streets again. I can’t be alone. I can’t live without you. I’m s-so sorry. I just-just-just can’t live without you,” Stanley cried.

The flowers in Stanford’s hands fell to the floor as Stanford dropped to his knees before his brother. Stanford cupped Stanley’s face forced his twin to look him in he eyes.

“Stanley…I never wanted you to leave. And for you to think that I ever would…that means I messed up bad. I never expected nor wanted you to leave, Stanley. I would never wish for you to leave me,” Stanford said softly as he brushed the hair out of Stanley’s forehead.

“B-b-but I ki-kissed you,” Stanley sobbed.

“I know.”

“A-a-and we’re b-brothers.”

“I know.”

“Th-then why? Why don’t you want me t-to leave? M-my feelings for y-you won’t j-just disappear, Stanford,” Stanley cried, his shoulders bouncing.

God was he pathetic.

“Because I love you, Stanley.”

Stanley let out a small gasp and his eyes widened. Those words couldn’t have just fallen from his brother’s lips.

“What?” Stan whispered.

Stanford smiled softly as he brushed tears out of Stanley’s eyes with his rough thumbs. “Of course I love you, Stanley. You’re my brother. Right now I may not love you the same way you love me, but I spent all night thinking about it and…I want to give it a shot,” Stanford murmured.

“You…you what?” Stanley asked, his mind reeling.

Stanford smiled and let out a small chuckle. “Hold on. Let me do this the right way,” Stanford reached out behind him and picked up the mixed bouquet and held them out to Stanley with a large smile, “Stanley, would you go on a date with me?”

Stanley’s heart swelled. Stanford was asking him out on a date. His crush was asking him out on a date. His _**brother** _ was asking him out on a date. Stanford didn’t hate him. He loved him. Loved him enough to go on a date with him. With his own _**brother**_.

Fuck.

Stanley let out a strangled sob and tackled his brother into a tight hug, smashing the flowers between them.

“Whoa! I-I’ll take that as a yes,” Stanford chuckled as he rubbed his brother’s back.

“Sh-sh-shut up,” Stanley stuttered as he sniffed loudly.

Stanford chuckled and gently kissed Stanley’s temple as he snuggled deeper into his brother’s arms and hummed. “I’m glad I have you, Stanley.”


End file.
